Slag Happens
by That Buggy Girl
Summary: Human!AU spin-off of "Speech Therapy." Suddenly, Mudflap's speech issues are the least of every one's problems. Fitting in to the human world as humans is proving to be way harder than fitting in as robots! Some mild slash; reviews are love.
1. Important Things

**Notes:** Here's another little bonus story for you.

Robots-as-humans-for-no-explicable-reason. I started thinking about the kinds of things the speech therapist at my work would do with Mudflap and the thought wound up running away with me. So here you go.

Clearly, this is not part of the movie continuity OR the regular "Speech Therapy" continuity (I'm not writing the _Epsilon's_ crew into RotF). It does, however, take place after RotF and, in this drabble, Hoist and Grapple are, apparently, on Earth.

These are purely written for my own amusement, but if you like them, be sure to drop a line. I love answering questions readers may have!

* * *

**Important Things**

"Those stupid slaggers couldn't tell us apart!"

"And they wath makin' fun o' our nameth!"

"Yeah, the morons. It ain't our fault what we named and that it ain't right fo' humans! And we ain't gonna be called by stupid human names that don't even mean nothin' or-"

"He got in trouble for pickin' hith nothe!"

"Yeah, well you was scratchin' yo' aft!"

"They wouldn't let uth thit togethah!"

"Said we'd cause way too much trouble if we did -who told 'em that?- and that we needed to work, not goof off!"

"The thpeech perthon ith really weird-"

"It don't seem like she know nothing!"

"-and the ain't nearly tho cool ath you! Why can't I jutht thtay wit' you, Hoitht?"

"Said I talk too much and the way I talk ain't right and mebbe I need speech stuff too. Can you 'magine that? What the slag, right?"

"He got thent to the commander 'cauthe he thlugged thomebody inna face!"

"…Only 'cause he told me you's a dopey lookin' idiot."

"HE THAID WHAT?"

It was hard not to bury his face in his hands in exasperation, but Hoist managed to do it. He knew, of course, that Skids had punched a human in the face, but apparently, that was only the tip of the iceberg, as his young wards were informing him of numerous other misdeeds they'd performed throughout the day.

They had been stuck in organic bodies for two weeks now and the little twins -who were, according to Sam, about twelve human years old (and they certainly I_acted/I_ it, Sam had informed them)- were driving every one up the wall. They were smaller and even more hyper than they had been as robots, capable of causing -though the older Autobots found it hard to believe- even more damage and mischief than before. The only time any of the adults got any rest was when they were sleeping, which didn't seem to occur often.

The end of the first week found the first arrivals all avoiding the twins like the plague, Sideswipe threatening to slaughter them at least once an hour, Grapple locked in an office with a sheaf of 'important' blueprints, and Hoist on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

It had been Sam's creator who suggested sending them to school, 'where kids belonged'. It would give them a chance to brush up on human culture, help them focus a little (hopefully), let them burn off some energy, give Hoist a rest and maybe some one would even be able to do something about Mudflap's speech impediment.

Plus, she had argued, it was that time of year where students were least likely to focus -right before the mysterious holiday called Christmas- so it wouldn't matter if they there a little disruptive.

It seemed like a great idea at the time - Good PR for the Autobots, something different for the twins, gave Hoist a much needed break…

But now it seemed like the worst idea in the universe.

Hoist didn't even want to know how many other minor problems they'd caused throughout the day. He probably would have found out anyway, except their chattering about the day quickly dissolved into an argument and they went tumbling across the floor, pulling hair and smacking each other until they grew bored with it, then scampered off to rot their minds by way of video games and cartoons.

That left the medic alone in the kitchen, where he sank wearily down into a chair, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

Truth be told, there was no way Hoist could stay mad at them. He adored the twins; loved them as if they were his own creations. He knew they annoyed almost every one else, but he'd been taking care of them for so long that their small idiosyncrasies and odd behaviors didn't bother him any more. And now that they were in fragile human bodies, with stick-out ears and stick-up hair and spindly, gangly limbs, he found them even more dear. It wasn't their fault - not that their processors weren't up to speed or the ADHD or any of it.

But what could he do? None of them had any idea how long they were going to be stuck like this (the twins were alternately cursing and praising Wheeljack's name - It depended on their mood and whether they found something good about the situation or bad) and they had to make the best of it, but he wasn't sure any more how to solve this problem of the twins' behavior.

Or how to keep his own sanity in the meanwhile.

* * *

He was still pondering the dilemma when Grapple wandered into the room, a file folder and T-square under his arm, pencil tucked behind his ear. He had this way of looking disheveled even when he was neatly groomed -he had almost a little bit of an absentminded professor look- that Hoist found oddly appropriate and he was almost always carting around graph paper, tools, bits of things for scale models…Almost anything that could be used as an excuse for escaping the insanity that was the twins.

Hoist loved him to bits -they had been friends for a _long_ time- but he sorely wished his partner would stop avoiding the problem at hand and help him with their charges.

"I won't bother asking how it went." Grapple set his things on the table and -as if on autopilot- put a kettle on to boil. He knew there was no reason to ask if his friend _wanted_ tea; the medic looked as if he needed it. Badly. And he wasn't really sure how else to help Hoist, anyway.

"Skids punched a human." Hoist flopped forwards, head against the table, posture clearly displaying exasperation and weariness, "Mudflap couldn't stop moving and proved to be a constant, noisy distraction." He sighed dramatically, "Perhaps this wasn't a good idea…"

Grapple plunked a mug down in front of him, brow quirked. "Only perhaps?"

Hoist perked back up at the scent of the tea, taking it gratefully and wrapping his hands around the mug, reveling in the soothing warmth. A sheepish grin crossed his face, "Okay; okay…It was a _terrible_ idea."

"Only terrible?" Grapple plunked down in a chair across from him, opening the file and removing some schematics. He paused to glance up at Hoist, then plucked the pencil from behind his ear and made a note on one of the papers.

"Fine, it was the worst idea ever." This time, the medic was laughing, worry over the situation slowly dissipating as he sipped the tea (his one major weakness as a human), "But at least it wasn't _my_ idea…"

* * *

Two days later found Hoist in a chair in the twins' classroom, face to face with the flustered-looking teacher. The medic could tell that the poor woman was at her wit's end; she seemed jittery and tense. Though he could appreciate that, he couldn't help but thinking that she shouldn't have been so stressed already. It had only been three days for her and he had known the twins for centuries. It didn't seem fair that he had been called in here to be reprimanded for their behavior, when she got to send them home and he was dealing with them the other sixteen hours of the day.

Or maybe he was just so tired that he wasn't thinking straight.

"I'm sure they must be delightful children…"

Oh. Ouch. It was the wrong way to begin and it immediately set the medic off on the defensive.

"…But they are impossible. Every one is having difficulties telling them apart, to begin with. And they seem to enjoy that; they're constantly trying to switch places. Really, the only way we can tell is when they're speaking, since they sound distinctly different. Skids is, as far as I can tell, intelligent, but his impulsiveness and poor judgment often interrupt his thought process. And he likes to talk, doesn't he?"

Hoist opened his mouth to answer, but she didn't give him the chance, just barreled on with her tirade.

"And Mudflap, bless him, simply can't contain himself to his seat. He seems to be trying, but unable to remain still long enough for it to make a difference. He is friendly and outgoing, but doesn't seem to know how to behave around other children. His poor speech is also already becoming the butt of many jokes. I'm afraid children at this age can be quite cruel…" Another pause followed, as the teacher seemed to be collecting her thoughts, but -again- it wasn't long enough for Hoist to jump into the conversation, "And I'm a bit worried about their literacy skills as well. It seems that-"

This time, the medic cut her off. He hated to be rude, but enough was enough. He was already well aware of the challenges that came with educating the twins, as well as their shortcomings. He didn't need a rehash of it from some one who didn't even know them.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, ma'am" -He wasn't, really- "but I am already aware of many of these issues. There are some things you probably don't understand about the twins that perhaps I can shed some light on."

The teacher, who'd looked somewhat taken aback by his sudden interruption, sat back in her chair. "Then please do tell, Mr.…Hoist."

"The twins' primary function is _not_ that of the academic or intellectual variety. They are designed to be nothing more than service bots or perhaps low level soldiers. We will never know what their fate would have been, were their creators not destroyed, but we are nonetheless pleased and surprised by the strides they have made. They are both quite capable of reading, though it is neither of their strong suits. And you must take into consideration that their native tongue is not _your_ native tongue." Hoist was frowning, brows drawn in concentration. It was not right how this woman -who was supposed to be an educator and nurturer- was so ready to cast aside his charges after such a short period of time.

"Furthermore, their individual problems can be met head on, with a little patience and work. I have been watching over them since long before your creation and know that, while they seem brash and undisciplined, they are both quite loyal and, with the right kind of attention, can make great improvements. And is it not your function of offer them your support and assistance in meeting their educational needs and goals?"

He didn't mean to sound accusing, but he couldn't help it. These were his _children_ they were talking about; he had been raising them for a long time. She had no right to be so…so…He wasn't even quite sure what word would apply, but it bothered him that she seemed so opposed to their being there.

"Yes, but…I feel as though my classroom is ill-equipped to meet their needs." She began slowly, leaning forwards, elbows on her desk, fingers steepled, "Perhaps they are more suited for one of our…" She paused again, trying to find a tactful way to suggest the twins be removed to a special education classroom, "…more structured rooms, where more support can be provided. We could work out behavioral and educational plans for them. We have many programs that offer more one-to-one support, plus Mudflap would be able to see the speech therapist more often and-"

"That is the last thing they need." He cut her off again, this time not at all concerned with being rude. "Skids will learn the routine. If you are firm with him -as I expect you should be with any ill-behaved youngster- he will respond and listen. He talks excessively because he hopes desperately that he will be noticed and praised for his knowledge, because he is not as skilled a fighter as his brother. And Mudflap's speech issues correlate directly with his ease in his surroundings and will correct themselves with time, as he becomes more accustomed to the situation. His attention deficit is manageable, if he knows what is expected of him, information which I suspect you have not provided, given you are used to your students having already attended a school. You have hardly given them sufficient time to adjust, and you are already expecting them to perform as the rest of your students do. I do not find that fair in the least." Here he paused, suddenly remembering the need to breathe, and absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair.

The teacher looked at him, a small frown on her own face. He was an attractive man, with patrician features, conservative clothing and a slight, almost-British-sounding accent. He was nothing like the two rambunctious hooligans that had been terrorizing her for the past three days, who were awkward and gangly and spoke as if they just crawled out of a gutter. "I've heard rumor of why you decided to send them here and I don't think _you're_ being fair. If it's true that you dumped them on us because you're sick of them…" Her voice was carefully neutral, but Hoist could easily detect the hostility, bitterness and accusation that flickered across her face.

"Imagine looking after them for an entire day." He said it bluntly; he was not one to mince words, "Imagine the trouble they can get into in familiar surroundings. Too put it simply, I am exhausted and need a break. I am in no way 'sick' of them. Besides being their caregiver, I am also a medic, and have a duty to many others. Therefore, I cannot always keep an eye on them."

She folded her arms, not at all moved by his plight. "Can't any of your people baby-sit them for a while? That is NOT my job." Annoyance had crept into her voice and her brows drew together, the corners of her mouth turning down further, "I understand that there are many of you at that military base."

"There are many others," Hoist agreed, "who have duties to carry out. Even my longtime companion is of little help." When she opened her mouth to say something further, he continued on, "And I don't begrudge him that. We all have our functions and must see to them. I am their primary caregiver and it is my duty to look after them and keep them out of trouble, not any one else's. After the death of their creators, it was I that they imprinted on. They listen to and respect me because of this, and because I do the same for them in return."

Here, the medic stopped speaking and rose from his chair, bright blue gaze never leaving the woman's face. "If you, however, are unable to handle them, I will remove them from this institution and keep them at base. Perhaps they are exhausting and troublesome, but I would much rather have them in a place where they are liked and respected as the individuals that they are than here where they will be neither wanted nor appreciated. And now," He inclined his head politely, "I will stop wasting your time."

And with that, he was out the door.

* * *

Grapple was waiting on the sofa for him when he returned, something which somewhat surprised Hoist. But his presence was hardly unwelcome; the medic sank down beside him wearily, hands folded in his lap.

"I told her that I will not send them tomorrow." He informed Grapple, who turned to look at him, expecting defeat. Instead, what he saw in his friend's eyes was a renewed sense of determination, coupled with the usual quiet dignity he maintained. "Or again at all."

"…You gave up your free time for them." Grapple edged closer, resting a gentle hand on his partner's arm. Hoist perked up a little at the show of support, smiling suddenly and leaning into Grapple's side.

"I hardly consider it a sacrifice." He murmured, "Something which I learned today. Perhaps that school isn't the best place to educate them, but it taught me something. I like them just as they are, worrisome behavior and all. I don't want them to change and stop being themselves, which is what that human wanted of them."

"You're too kind, Hoist." Grapple smiled, fond. He felt a little guilty, too; Sam's creator had given him a lecture while Hoist was gone, reprimanding him for not helping his friend more. _"You're his _partner_, Grapple." She'd told him, hands on her hips, lips pursed, "And by human standards, that means you're half responsible for them as well. He's not a single parent, so you shouldn't be treating him like one." _It hadn't occurred to him prior to that that he should be doing anything to help out; Hoist was their caregiver. But the woman had a no-nonsense way of tackling a problem, and it had left him feeling overwhelmingly remorseful for not thinking to offer his help. "And, um, if you ever need a break…You can count on me to help."

At that, the other man's face lit up, a beaming smile brightening his face. Grapple was surprised when Hoist impulsively and enthusiastically hugged him -they were both usually much more reserved in their displays of affection- but returned the gesture, if a little tentative.

"Thank you." Hoist's smile didn't fade in the least as he sat back, all of the tension draining out of his body. Grapple felt like an idiot; if only he had offered to help out sooner! If that was all it took to make his friend so happy…

Grapple returned the smile easily. "It's no problem. You deserve it."

"Where are the two of them, anyway?" Hoist suddenly looked around, noticing for the first time how quiet it was. There were no sounds of anything breaking, no screaming, no thumping or crashing, nothing but peaceful silence. And now that he thought about it…It was kind of eerie.

A ghost of a frown crossed his companion's face. "In their quarters, I believe…I think they finally got it through their thick heads that they're in trouble and Skids even mumbled something about homework."

"I see…" Hoist nodded, disappointing Grapple a little by getting up and heading down the hall, seemingly lost in thought.

* * *

Mudflap and Skids were in their room, curled up together on their bed and trying to make heads or tails of a book they were supposed to be reading for school. The room, of course, had two beds, but they preferred to share one and the other had an untouched, pristine and out of place look to it. Mudflap was nestled against his brother's side, a hand wound through Skids' hair (no wonder it was always sticking up…), as he struggled to sound out a word. "Thith maketh no thenthe!" He was whined, throwing the book across the room in frustration.

"I know that, stupid." Skids shoved him away, crawling over him to go and retrieve the book, "But you know we gotta do it."

"No you don't."

Both of their heads jerked up at the sound of Hoist's voice. Neither of them had noticed when he'd appeared in the doorway, watching them struggle with human literature because they thought it would make him happy. It had tugged at his spark instead; how could he let them suffer like that? Academics just weren't their thing. "You're not going back there." A pause, "Ever."

They were silent for a split second, then they exploded into wild chatter, jumping on the bed and blabbering about how awesome that was. Mudflap even went so far as to spring at him in excitement, bouncing off the bed and latching on to Hoist, sending him crashing to the ground in the process.

"Nice goin' afthead!" Skids cackled, falling back onto the mattress and laughing maliciously.

"Oh thorry!" Mudflap squeaked, instantly contrite about his impulsive behavior. "I didn't mean to! I wath jutht…exthited." A sheepish grin crossed his face, "'Cauthe I jutht hate that fraggin' academy."

"It's okay." Hoist gave him a pleasant, reassuring smile. "I should never have sent you to that place to begin with. It was not right for either of you and I apologize."

"We don't mind."

"It wath kinda fun metthin' wid all thothe humanth."

"Yeah, teach looked like she was gonna offline if one a us even smiled."

"An' that food fight wath _tho_ worth gettin' thent to the offithe."

"So we didn't mind much."

As they erupted into chatter again, Hoist glanced between them, fond. It didn't matter so much that they were bad, no matter how exasperated he got with them. The important part was that they were _his._

He silenced them as they were high-fiving, simply by lifting a hand. "I'm glad the experience hasn't damaged you at all." He said cheerfully, picking himself up off the floor and straightening his clothes, "That said, I have work to do. Do try and keep out of trouble for a while."

They both saluted, as was their usual response to such a request. The gesture was almost purely mocking, but Hoist didn't mind. "Oh and Twins?"

"Yeah?" They replied in unison, heads cocked, mirror images of one another.

"Don't ever change."

They looked at one another for a moment, faces screwed up in thought, then broke into identical grins.

This time, they saluted and meant it.


	2. Drawing from Experience

**Notes:** If you want to know what the weapon mentioned in this chapter looks like, picture a machine gun, only made of yellow plastic and full of suction cup darts.

Beverly's character is based off a child I know. The Beverly in the story is about eleven. The one I know is three and the mispronunciation of her name is accurate to real life.

Andrew's character is slightly inspired by Mr. Freeman from the novel _Speak._

…I wonder if newer computers recognize the word "texting" as legit. My spellcheck doesn't.

Enjoy!

-

_Even heroes have the right to dream  
__It's not easy to be me…_

-Five For Fighting

-

**Drawing from Experience**

Being human really wasn't so bad.

A lot of human culture -especially pop culture- was really fun. Mudflap had been interested in it even before the Change, but it had been more difficult to participate in organic leisure activities as a robot; he was too big or too bulky or too heavy for most of them. While he was smaller than most of the others and, therefore, more capable of fitting inside buildings, he had still broken a DDR pad at the arcade, been kicked out of a movie theater for being too loud (he couldn't really help the random noises his exhaust fans made!), and knocked over a basketball hoop. It had sucked, not being able to try out things that were new and exciting.

But now…He was small enough to try it all. Mudflap doubted that the arcade at the mall would never be the same again after he and Skids were done with it. They had already been to the movies six times since they found themselves in their current state and discovered that Pizza Hut's lunch buffet was a little slice of heaven on a plate.

Bumblebee was proving to be a fountain of information; he knew much more about human rituals and culture than they could ever expect to. Mudflap was certain that all the things the scout knew far surpassed his memory's capacity and he therefore pestered Bumblebee at every chance he got.

Unfortunately, Bumblebee's patience only extended so far.

No one else really had the time to do the stuff he enjoyed with him, either. Mudflap was hyper; always moving. He couldn't stay focused on anything important for very long and he more often than not forgot the whole reason he wanted to do something to begin with. Almost any activity or project he began was abandoned halfway through. And so his erratic behavior, poor impulse control and big mouth left him a most undesirable companion.

Worse yet, even Skids seemed to be too busy for him most of the time! The twins, once inseparable, were growing apart.

Something had changed between them after the battle in Egypt; something he didn't quite understand. Maybe Skids understood it…Mudflap didn't know. But his brother did always claim to be smarter, so it was possible.

In any case, nothing was the same and Mudflap found himself alone and bored as every one went about their duties and Skids went off somewhere with fraggin' Leo.

And a bored Mudflap…was a dangerous thing.

…Or…He should have been, at least.

He seemed depressed instead.

He spent a lot of time in the space designated the "family room," balled up on the couch with a hand-held gaming device of some sort -the PSP was his favorite- or upside down, feet in the air as he watched something violent or lewd on the television. Any one else who entered the room ran the risk of stepping on candy wrappers or comic books or dead batteries; he was an untidy individual. And it seemed there was a direct correlation between the size of his mess and his state of boredom.

Hoist found it sad; he hated seeing Mudflap moping around the place. But he wasn't quite sure what to do about it, either. He was simply too busy to spend unlimited amounts of time with the youngster and he knew most of the others -even if they could stand to be in his presence for more than five minutes- would likely have the same reasoning for not being able to do things with him.

Really, he needed friends.

But Hoist wasn't sure how to find him any.

That had been part of the point of the failed attempt to send them to school. Both of the twins were constantly underfoot because they didn't have many responsibilities now that they were human. And Skids went off with Leo to cause trouble quite often, leaving his brother behind and lonely. Hoist knew social skills were not their strong point; they were too rough around the edges to easily invite friendship. But they were young and still developing and they _needed_ more social interaction with their peers.

School would have been an ideal place for that interaction to occur, but it had been a disaster and there was no way in the Pit he was sending them back.

It was bad. Mudflap was getting on every one's last nerves. Even easy-going Jolt had come to Hoist to complain, grumbling something about the small twin interrupting his downtime by creeping into the rec room armed with a Nerf N Strike Vulcan EBF-25 Blaster and a seemingly unlimited supply of small foamy projectiles for said gun.

This complaint had been confirmed to be true when Sideswipe marched through the door of Hoist's office about five minutes after Jolt, jostling a squirming Mudflap along beside him. Sideswipe had a hold on the youngster's neck so tight that he probably could have snapped it if he squeezed, and Mudflap was flailing, still stupidly trying to escape.

"I didn't do nothin'!" The words were out of Mudflap's mouth before Hoist even had a chance to question what was going on. "Thidethwipe hath no thenthe of fun, man!" At Sideswipe's dark look, he wisely stopped struggling, going limp in the older man's grasp. "'Thideth, I didn't know what they wath doing! They thoulda been doin' _that_ in their private quarterth." He muttered sullenly.

Hoist reeeally didn't want to know.

But he had to ask, anyway.

"What happened?" Again, he fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. That desire was becoming a normal one; either or both of the twins left him feeling that exasperated at least once a day.

"I'm sure Jolt already told you." Sideswipe grumbled, the murderous glint never leaving his eyes, "You deal with him. He's your responsibility." And with that, he shoved the young Autobot towards Hoist, turned on his heal and stormed out of the room.

Hoist took the split second in which Sideswipe departed to puzzle out the entire situation. Obviously, Mudflap had started shooting the soldiers unprovoked. That was bad enough on its own. But given the fact he had attacked them while they were together, it was likely that he had interrupted something rather intimate…

Slag. Not only would he have to come up with a suitable punishment for Mudflap, he'd also have to steam clean that couch. Again.

"Hoitht-" Mudflap began, his remorseful expression crossing his face, baby blue eyes going big and wide.

"Mudflap…" The medic sighed, dragging a weary hand across his face, "You can't keep doing things like this. You're driving every one out of their processors. And until I figure out what to do about it, you're confined to your quarters."

"But Hoitht!"

"No 'buts'! Go!"

The boy looked up at him for a moment, a hint of betrayal flashing across his face.

Then he went.

-

"I don't know what to do about Mudflap."

Grapple was used to Hoist visiting him in his workroom. Mostly, the medic came to make sure he was still alive -he had a habit of forgetting to do things like fuel and sleep when he was busy- but he occasionally came for other reasons, such as asking his partner to go out to lunch with him, or just to chat about what he was working on and how his day was going.

He wasn't used to Hoist looking so mopey. And it was somewhat odd that he found himself with Hoist draped over his back and sort of clingy.

He'd been bent over his worktable, sketching an intricate design for a human-sized desk for Prime -a fabulous one that would easily house a computer monitor or two- when the medic had appeared, leaning against him and looking woeful.

"…What did he do now?" Grapple asked distractedly, moving his t-square and running his pencil along the edge of it to make another precise line. Complaints about Mudflap's behavior were nothing new; Hoist had been handling the insanity he wrought since long before they'd found themselves human.

"He walked in on Sideswipe and Jolt doing…_something_ in the rec room," Hoist rested his chin on the architect's shoulder and glanced down at his blueprints, sighing, "and rather than just leave them alone…He launched an assault with a toy firearm."

There was silence for a moment.

Then Grapple began to laugh, shoulders shaking. He could picture it, punky Jolt and quiet, brooding Sideswipe entwined together on the couch -and knowing Jolt, there'd be some kind of new age music involved- suddenly finding themselves victim to a shower of little foam darts that were in no way discriminating about what surfaces they stuck to. It served them right; they'd already been talked to several times about fraternizing in common areas.

Hoist thumped a fist against his back, trying not to fall prey to the contagious laughter. "It isn't funny! We're lucky Sideswipe didn't offline Mudflap! He was positively livid; you should have seen his face." He stepped back, frowning at his still-snickering partner, "This is a serious problem, Grapple. Especially now that Skids is disappearing to do his own thing so often…Mudflap has nothing to do, so he's wreaking havoc on the entirety of the base."

"So we find him something to do so he won't be bored." Grapple shrugged, taking up his pencil again and making another mark on the diagram laid before him.

Another weary sigh escaped the medic. It was easy enough to _say_ things like that; it didn't mean it was as simple to do them. "Nobody trusts him enough to do anything important around here and you know it, Grapple. He's not really the kind to follow through on 'boring' work orders."

There was another pregnant pause as Grapple finally -_finally!-_ set aside the t-square and pencil and fully turned to look at Hoist. "So we send him off-base to do something. Enroll him in some kind of Earth child's extracurricular activity to keep him busy. Something he'd enjoy, rather than consider work, so he would want to go."

Hoist's mouth fell open and he simply looked at his other half in wonder for a moment or so. That idea was sheer genius! Why hadn't he thought of it himself? "That is a capital idea, Grapple!" He smiled, genuinely pleased with the suggestion, "But what do you suppose he'd like to do? I'd rather not encourage anything violent; he already spends enough time fighting with his brother. I'd rather he channel his excess energy into a creative outlet…"

Grapple just looked at the other man while he spoke, giving him time to think out loud. He liked to watch Hoist; the medic's face was incredibly expressive. His eyes were a pale shade -cornflower- that showed emotion easily. He was a patient, forgiving man and everything about his face showed it.

"Well, he steals my Sharpies quite often," -A pause- "to scribble on the walls." Grapple frowned a little, pondering the situation, "So perhaps some sort of drawing course? He seems interested in it, at least and if he learns how to use my materials properly, perhaps he _won't_ feel the need to destroy them by drawing with them on things they're not meant to draw on." Though thinking about the theft of his valuable supplies made him a bit cross, he couldn't help being secretly pleased that Mudflap was showing an interest in his profession, even if he was only grasping at straws in thinking so.

"Another good idea." Hoist's face lit with a smile, "Though he's not a very good artist, is he? I've seen his scribbles on the wall and it seems that, in addition to his other myriad problems, he has poor hand-eye coordination. So maybe just a general arts class would be more fitting for his skill level." He gave Grapple's head a fond pat, fingers lingering in his tousled sandy hair. "Thank you for your input. I'll start looking for something suitable."

And that was how Mudflap found himself enrolled in a creative arts course for middle school aged children.

-

The first day was a little rough.

The only thing Mudflap could think as Hoist ushered him into the spacious, airy room at the library that served as the art studio was "being human _sucks._"

He hadn't forgotten how terrible school had been and he wasn't expecting this to be much better. The other kids were the same age as his former classmates, after all, and they looked like they'd be just as big jerks. They were all milling around, sitting on tables and chatting, chomping on bubblegum, texting and listening to music.

A youngish looking man with a tangled ponytail and leather sandals wandered over to the door to meet them, smiling pleasantly and extending his hand to Hoist, who shook it. "Hi." He said cheerfully, "I'm Andrew; I run the class." He smiled down at the child half-hidden behind the man, "Given that I know all the other students already, you must be Mudflap." He had been fully apprised of the situation; he and Hoist had had a lengthy phone conversation prior to Mudflap's enrollment in the class. He knew that this child had once been an alien robot, that he had many and varying issues regarding academics and that he desperately sought praise. He'd been instructed to treat him like any other child and to forget the part about his having been a robot.

Way easier said that done.

Hoist nudged Mudflap forward. Andrew looked him over discreetly. He'd heard of the Autobots, of course. Who hadn't? And most of the world also knew of their mysterious change from giant robots from space to fairly attractive humans. But still, he hadn't been quite sure what to expect.

Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't the child staring up at him. Mudflap was small, with a kind of dopey looking face. He had big, pale blue eyes and a turned-up nose. His mouth almost seemed too wide for his face and his ears stuck out from beneath the ski cap he had pulled low over his forehead. His hoodie was at least a size too big and his jeans showed off just how skinny and scrawny he really was underneath the baggy sweatshirt.

He was not at all what the art teacher had imagined an elite warrior from another planet would look like.

"Yeah." The kid mumbled, stuffing his hands in his pocket, "'m Mudfwap."

Andrew smiled again, trying to ease some of the tension radiating from the robot-turned-human. Clearly, Mudflap did not want to be there. "Well, you're just on time, so come on in. We're about to get started with today's lesson."

He looked up at Hoist uncertainly and the medic smiled encouragingly and patted his shoulder. "I'll come back to get you later." Hoist informed him, "Have a good time."

Mudflap glanced around, then gave Hoist a quick hug, mumbling something that might have been a "see you later." The older man seemed to take that as a sign that it was okay to leave and he smiled again, waving on his way out the door.

If Bumblebee had been there, Mudflap thought as he glanced around the room again, and had still been in his original form, he would have rolled a clip of "Welcome to the Jungle" at that exact moment.

"All right, people." Andrew clapped his hands twice and students scrabbled to find seats at all the tables around the room. "Today we're going to talk about charcoal pencils. Can any one tell me…"

Mudflap plunked himself in the only available chair and found himself seated next to a young girl with a riot of curly hair pushed back by a headband. She had a pencil tucked behind her ear and the sleeves of her billowy, paisley print shirt had been pushed up. He watched her for a moment as she glanced between the teacher and the paper on the table before her; occasionally she made an experimental stroke on her paper with what must have been a charcoal pencil.

"Who are you?" The girl -who's name was Beverly- turned to him when Andrew stopped speaking, gaze critical. The class had begun for the semester a month or so ago and every one already knew every one else from sports and school and other extracurricular activities. It was really weird that some outsider was showing up out of nowhere.

Mudflap looked at her suspiciously, absently scratching a pencil across his paper in a sweeping motion. "People call me Mudfwap." He answered cautiously, uncertain what she would say next. Human children made him nervous; he knew he wasn't supposed to talk the way he usually did around them. And besides, the ones at the school had been _mean_. "'Cauthe I like gettin' methy." He added, suddenly remembering that humans didn't have names that described them like Cybertronians did.

Beverly turned back to her own drawing, adding a scraggly tree to the meadow scene she'd begun sketching earlier. "How come you talk like that?" She asked almost absently, brow furrowing in concentration as she painstakingly added leaves to the branches.

At that question, he felt his spark sink. Queries about his language issues usually lead to teasing. "I got a thpeach dithorder." The lines on his paper were taking shape of their own accord; turning into some kind of tall, pointy tower, "It come from a thothal anthiety problem I got. When I get nervouth, I can't talk right."

"Oh." She shrugged, hair bouncing, and looked back at her drawing, "I'm Beverly, by the way. You should probably know that, if we're going to be sharing a table for the rest of the class."

A tentative smile crossed his face. "Beberly. It ain't got an eth in it…I like that." And even without an "S," he still said it wrong. Mudflap was never quite sure how to act around others. He knew he couldn't insult and smack around other humans, and that was what he always did with Skids…

Beverly returned the smiled and picked up a paper stump, then set about adding some shading to her picture. A couple of the other students wandered over to the table eventually; apparently the girl was one of the better artists in the class. They were also curious about the newcomer and, seeing as how they were children, acted accordingly.

"Who're you?"

"Why'd you come in the middle of the class?"

"What's yer name?"

"How old are you?"

"What school do you go to?"

Suddenly, they were all asking questions at once, crowding around his chair. Mudflap sank into his seat a little, shrinking in on himself until Beverly snapped at them to "get outta the way and let him talk!"

They backed off a little and Mudflap sat back up in his chair. He hadn't expected to be so popular! It hadn't been like this at the school. "I'm Mudfwap." He said, looking from one expectant face to another, "I wathn't here b'fore 'cauthe we didn't know 'bout thith clath b'fore. An' I don't go to thcool 'cauthe-"

"You talk like an idiot!" One of the girls cut him off, a malicious smirk crossing her face. She looked slightly older than most of the others -she was actually the oldest student in the class and, therefore, the queen bee- and the smirk soon shifted to a full-blown grin, "Bet you don't go to school because you're too stupid."

A spattering of laughter followed this and Mudflap's eyes went wide. It _was_ like school all over again! Abruptly, he pushed back his chair, fighting the urge to punch that slaggin' bitch in the face; how dare she! That whiny little female had no idea how hard he worked to overcome his problems, how much he struggled with language and how terrible it felt to have some one judge you for something you couldn't help.

He wanted to punch her in her pretty little face. He wanted to hit her _so bad_.

Instead, he shoved through the throng of kids -some laughing, some looking bewildered- and ran from the room, Beverly simultaneously yelling for him to come back and threatening the bully.

Hoist found him later, after no one else could, hiding in a broom closet. Closets had always been Mudflap's favorite place to hide when he was in trouble, for as long as Hoist had known him. He liked to fit himself into small, dark places; he seemed to think it would make him invisible.

"Come on." The medic said, voice kind. He offered a hand to the crouched figure among the buckets and brooms and Mudflap took it, dragging himself up off the floor and out into the dim light of the hall. He'd clearly been crying, but Hoist said nothing about it, and simply put an arm around his shoulders.

Mudflap sank into his side gratefully and glanced up at him. "Why don't no one like me, Hoitht?" He asked morosely, "I didn't do nothin' wrong an' thome jerk-fathe girl wath thill makin' fun a me. It ain't fair…"

"I don't know." Came the quiet response. Hoist found himself wishing, not for the first time, that Mudflap's life could be different. Underneath all of the mayhem and crude language, the youngster was really quite vulnerable and insecure. He was also incredibly friendly and desperate for affection, but didn't always know how to go about getting it. He had a lot of problems, due to the unfortunate fact that he had been created in the slums -the less income a family unit had, the more likely it was that they would suffer from irreparable malfunctions- and none of them were his fault. "But I do know that I'm proud of you for not getting into trouble over it."

"It wathn't tho bad in th' beginning." Mudflap informed him as they headed out the door, "Teacher gave uth really methy pencilth an' we got to do whatevah we wanted wit' 'em. The girl thittin' by me, Beberly…The wath nithe. Maybe I'll hafta go back next week, jutht ta thow that othah girl I ain't thupid."

"That would be awfully mature of you." Hoist smiled, tightening the arm around his companion's shoulder, "And besides, Grapple would really like it if you learn some proper art techniques before you borrow his materials again." He teased lightly, glad to see the mood lifting somewhat as a sheepish grin crossed Mudflap's face.

"I'll do m' betht!" Mudflap declared, suddenly looking a lot more animated than he had in a long time. He liked pleasing Hoist and he liked the fact that sometimes Grapple let him hang out in his workroom, if he was good. And he knew both of them would be proud if he stuck with this art class thing, all the way to the end. No one thought he could finish anything he started, but he was a tenacious little bugger and he would do this -no matter how hard it was!- to prove them all wrong.

Hoist rewarded the proclamation with a smile. "I know you will." He didn't doubt that in the least.


	3. T'is the Season

**Notes:** Another thing some of you have already seen, but I feel the need to post here before I press on with new material.

My family is Catholic. We celebrate the four weeks of Advent, each of which revolves around a certain theme. Though this story contains no mention of religion, I've written the four short stories comprising the overall story to each focus on one of these themes, even if it only does so in a small way.

**Warning: **This part contains much fluff of the gay variety.

Enjoy!

-

**Hope**

"Hey Hoist! Mudflap's leakin'!"

"Id hid fawt!"

Hoist's head rose quickly and he swiveled in his chair to look at the twins, alarmed. 'Leaking' was never a good thing and Mudflap's voice sounded more garbled than usual.

He had been enjoying a steaming mug of vanilla caramel tea, his new favorite. The twins had wanted to decorate the Christmas tree on their own -Skids had accused him of hovering. He'd trusted that they could handle that without supervision and therefore retreated to the kitchen, eager to relax with a cup of tea and enjoy the soothing sound of Christmas carols drifting in from the other room.

So much for that plan.

Instead, he found himself face to face with the twins, who were jostling each other through the door. Mudflap's face and hands were smeared with something brightly red -blood!- and he was cupping a hand under his nose and sniffling. He was also smacking his brother with his other hand, leaving bloody handprints on his face and shirt, and Skids was squawking and slapping him back.

"Mudflap!" Hoist was out of his chair in an instant, grabbing a towel from the oven door handle and running it under the tap. "What happened?" Always the medic, he started wiping the youngster's face, pushing the towel up under his nose in an effort to staunch the flow of blood.

"It wad hid fawt!" Mudflap screeched, struggling and trying to push Hoist away so he could tackle his brother, "He starded id! He thaid I pud id in da wrong plade!" In the process of his flailing, he wound up whacking Hoist, who stumbled back in surprise, dropping the towel. Mudflap immediately started towards his brother, snuffling and wiping his nose on his arm, leaving a smear of blood on his sleeve.

Skids backed away, a shocked look on his face, though it was due more to the fact that his twin had _hit_ Hoist, no matter how accidental it had been. Especially considering it was _Mudflap_ who'd done it; Skids had always subconsciously believed that if either of them were ever to harm their caregiver -even if it were unintentional- it would be him. Mudflap acted like a sap when Hoist was around; he loved that mech more than almost anything. Skids wasn't jealous; he knew Mudflap loved him more, but…His brother didn't always act like his brother when the medic was present.

"That is _enough!_"

Both of them froze at the tone of Hoist's voice. He sounded calm, but his arms were folded, mouth drawn into a thin line…And that was usually a sign that he was _very_ angry.

"What. Happened?"

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Skids shuffled a little, squeaking when he backed himself into the wall that he seemed to have forgotten was there. Mudflap wiped at his nose again and -realizing the bleeding had stopped- glanced at his brother. "We god inna fight." He finally explained, still sounding somewhat stuffy, "Doopid ovah dere daid I wadn't hangin' duff up right. I told 'im I could do id howevah I wanna add we fighted."

Hoist glanced at the other twin, brow arched, looking for confirmation of this. Skids folded his arms, looking sullen. "I didn't mean at hurt 'im." He muttered, defensive and frowning, "Fergot that we mo' breakable now." Honestly, no one would have cared if they were still robots! It only mattered because they were fragile and easily damaged in their human bodies. They got in fights like that _all the time_ and Hoist had never gotten mad about it before.

Hoist returned the frown, running a hand through his hair and sighing. "You are confined to your quarters, the both of you. After you clean yourselves up, you may sit in your room and think about why we're often telling you to stop hitting each other. It is _not_ acceptable, especially now that it's easier for you to damage each other." The medic wasn't really angry, but he didn't know how else to get through to them. They were used to their shenanigans causing others to get mad. In all actuality, he was a bit scared. With the way they were always roughhousing, he was terrified that one of them would really hurt the other.

The mumbled a 'sorry' in unison, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. They didn't usually _mean_ to be bad; they were just impulsive and energetic. And it was incredibly rare that Hoist lost patience with them. Usually, he was their biggest supporter when they were in hot water with any one else.

As the pair retreated from the kitchen, Hoist slumped back down at the table, head in his hands. What in the universe had possessed him to allow them alone in that room with that Christmas tree? Why had he even agreed to celebrate this holiday, when it made little sense and only seemed to invoke a sense of greed in the humans? He had heard it was supposed to be a holiday of good will and love and giving and hoped it would be a good lesson for the twins, but it was already looking to be a catastrophe.

Now he could only hope that they'd survive the season without any further disasters.

But at the rate things were going, that would require a Christmas miracle.

**Peace**

When they were asleep, the twins were utterly adorable.

They slept in one bed, every night, curled in a tangle of gangly limbs, bodies twined together, fingers twisted in each other's shirts. Sometimes, they got lost in a mess of pillows and blankets --They had way more of them than they needed, but they were thin and spindly and Hoist worried about them getting cold. Other times, the bedding wound up in a heap on the floor and the two youngsters would curl around one another, seeking warmth and comfort.

Mudflap was usually curled up -he was the more vulnerable of the two- his brother wrapped protectively around him. He was always clutching at some part of Skids' person: hair, shirt, arm, something. It was as if he was afraid he'd wake up one morning to find his twin gone…

Skids was restless in his sleep, always rolling around, sprawled and twitchy. And any time he moved, he took his brother with him, keeping him close. Neither of them got particularly _good_ sleep because of this, but…

It didn't matter how they slept…They were always incredibly endearing in repose.

Hoist had gotten into the habit of looking in on them, ever since the change. He worried more about them now that they were all in fragile organic bodies, and found himself checking up on them quite often -especially since the incident at the school- even after they were asleep. It wasn't that they couldn't fend for themselves, it was just…He'd been looking after them for so long, it felt like they really were his.

Technically, they weren't children, not by any one's standards. Though young by Cybertronian standards, they had lived thousands of years already. But now, in these human bodies, they _looked_ like children, and they certainly acted like them as well, which left Hoist feeling as if he needed to keep a closer eye on them.

Nothing had ever been amiss during the nightly checks. Nothing that couldn't be solved by turning off a forgotten light or covering them with an extra blanket or more pillows, that is. But it didn't stop Hoist from looking in on them, every night.

It was, after all, the only time they were ever still and peaceful and he loved seeing them like that.

After tucking them in for the millionth time -Mudflap was shivering, the poor thing- Hoist wandered toward the common area, intent on relaxing for a while. He'd been meaning to browse through a human anatomy book for some time, but had never had a spare moment to do so and this seemed to be the perfect time.

This _was_ an opportune time; he had no pressing paperwork, no squeezed in appointments and nothing to do.

The common area was abuzz with its usual light chatter, coupled with the occasional loud outburst and spattering of laughter. It was a warm, comforting place, safe in its familiarity, and Hoist glanced around, smiling to himself. Even though their little family had its own space, he preferred to be around every one else.

The medic made his way through the room, returning greetings and exchanging pleasantries. His final destination was the big old easy chair they had salvaged from Sam's creators' basement. It had been headed for the garbage, but had been donated to the Autobots when they found themselves in their current predicament and it was Hoist's favorite spot to relax.

Legs crossed, he leaned back in the chair, the book propped up in his lap. This particular volume looked to be incredibly promising; it was full of interesting tidbits about the inner workings of the human body.

It only took a minute or two before the words started swimming before his eyes and he slumped over the book, asleep. Hoist had a habit of underestimating the signs his human body gave about how tired he was -or sometimes simply ignoring them- and often fell asleep right when he set about to do something relaxing.

Every one knew better than to disturb him; they all knew how hard he worked and how little recharge he got. And every one liked and respected Hoist too much to wake him, even if it was to move him to a more comfortable place for sleeping. So he had become a familiar sight there, most nights, dozing in the armchair with a book or file or something slipping from his grasp.

Most nights, Hoist woke to find himself alone, the rest of his comrades gone off to bed. Sometimes, some thoughtful individual covered him in a blanket; usually he was left exactly as he had been, and rose in the darkness, stretching and gathering his things before heading off to his quarters for some proper sleep.

This night, however, the first thing he saw when he blinked -muzzy- was Grapple sitting on the footrest near him, looking through a sheaf of papers in the dim light. He was leaned forwards, concentrating on whatever it was he was reading, and didn't even notice when his partner woke.

Hoist smiled to himself, just watching Grapple for a minute. Though he was distinctly different in appearance, he still displayed little mannerisms that were unique to him. The way he tilted his head, brow furrowed…the way he squared his shoulders while he was thinking; those things were distinctly Grapple.

He was a bulky man, with a build better suited for a football field than a drawing board. Everything about him was always slightly unkempt; Grapple had his head in the clouds and his mind on his work ninety-five percent of the time and was constantly running a hand through his hair. Hoist had to remind him often to do those odd little human things, like brushing his teeth and changing his socks, but the medic wouldn't change him for anything.

"Oh." Grapple glanced up suddenly, folding the papers and fiddling with them almost nervously, "You're online. Good." The smile that crossed his face at that wasn't one of his biggest, but it was one of the ones that made Hoist glad to know him.

Hoist bent to retrieve his book from the floor; it had fallen off his lap when he'd slumped down in the chair. "What are you doing still up? It's late and you're usually well into your recharge cycle by now…" Not that he was displeased by Grapple's presence or anything; it was just a change from routine. Truth be told, he was immensely happy to see his partner waiting for him; it was a _good_ change.

"I was waiting for you." Grapple put his papers back in their folder and rose, setting the file down on the footrest he'd recently vacated.

"…" The other man gave him a quizzical look, head cocked to the side in confusion. His partner never waited up for him; just went to bed and was already dead to the world by the time Hoist dragged himself off to recharge. It crossed his mind, for a second, that maybe he wasn't even really awake; maybe he was just dreaming all of this. It certainly _seemed_ like a situation out of a dream. "…Why?"

This time, Grapple's smile was a wide one. "Look out the window."

Curious, Hoist padded over to the aforementioned pane of glass, peering out into the night. "Oh my!" The world was powdered; white flecks swirling through the darkness and shimmering in the dim glow of the perimeter lights. Hoist watched, transfixed, as the wintry mix settled, still and sparkling, across the land. "It's beautiful…"

He was so intent on watching the snow flurry that Grapple's arm around his shoulders came as a complete surprise and he jumped at the touch, then glanced up at the other man, a sheepish look crossing his face. Grapple smiled back, understanding. It was another unusual gesture; they were both fairly reserved individuals.

"I thought you'd want to see it," The architect said quietly as Hoist nestled into the embrace, snuggling at his side, "But didn't think you'd happen to look out the window on your own, so I waited for you."

Hoist was silent for a long time, just thinking about that. The snow _was_ beautiful; simple, peaceful and so unfamiliar a sight that the novelty would last for quite some time. Nature on this planet worked in mysterious and fascinating ways, and Hoist liked that. But even more…It was the gesture itself that made it perfect. He had heard that, sometimes, no matter how compatible you are, people start to drift apart after a millennia or two. Or they become so comfortable in their routine that nothing is ever new or surprising.

But Grapple had changed his whole evening routine, just to show Hoist something he would have otherwise missed: One brief moment of peace, something that would be trampled and ruined forever with the first light of dawn. Then young 'bots would be out, screaming and laughing and destroying the pristine tranquility of the winter world and it would be gone, lost to them forever. Sure, other similar moments would come -and go- but none of them would be _this_ moment.

There had been a lot of words tossed in their direction: Old-Fashioned. Unromantic. Boring. The list could go on. And all of this from the younger generation, especially the soldiers who had never known a life without war; who found themselves constantly living in the moment. They didn't understand what it was like to be part of something bigger than themselves; to be part of some one else and have them be a part of you in return. They only _thought_ they understood, and that was why they failed to see Hoist and Grapple's partnership as anything special.

Moments like this were what made it so.

"Thank you." Hoist said, breaking the silence with his calm, even voice. The thanks wasn't for the snowfall, but rather the companionship. They didn't often spend time together like this, just in one another's presence.

Grapple's arm tightened around his shoulders and Hoist smiled, knowing he understood.

**Love**

"…You two want me to take you where?"

"The mall!"

"…Isn't that something you should ask Hoist about?" Grapple blinked at the twins, frowning a little. They had never asked him to take them anywhere; it was usually Hoist that they pestered, driving him insane until he either complied and chaperoned their excursions or politely told them to knock it off and get lost.

"We _can't_ ask him!"

"Yeah!"

"We wanna get somethin' fo' him. He can't be the one ta take us."

"Yeah, he might thee it!"

"And that'd ruin the surprise-"

"-Totally!-"

"-so you gotta do it!"

Another blink and Grapple scratched his head, glancing between the two of them again, slightly confused. He'd been so busy designing and building modular wall dividers for their now-too-large quarters that he'd completely missed the main point of Christmas: Presents. "Ah, _why_ are you buying something for Hoist?" A pause, "And what kind of 'something' are you talking about?"

"Fo' Cwithmath!" Mudflap grinned, flailing his arms a little, "Annabelle thay you th'pothed to give yo' Mom an' Dad thomethin' ta thow you care 'bout 'em."

"And Hoist's kinda like a mom for us." Skids clarified, his thoughtful expression crossing his face and making it look as if he was trying too hard to be serious, "He does mom-stuff, like makin' sure our clothes are clean and feedin' us and slag."

Clearly, neither of the twins understood the concept of human gender and gender labels. The corners of Grapple's mouth twitched upwards at the description of his partner as a mother. He could, actually, imagine Hoist as the stereotypical human mother, dressed in an apron and baking cookies for the twins; he was that kind of caring, nurturing individual.

"An' we dunno what we gonna give 'im yet…That'th why we gotta go to th'mall." A look that Ironhide jokingly referred to as "the cute face" -because there was very little cute about the twins- crossed Mudflap's face and he clasped his hands together, trying his best to look innocent and adorable. "Pweeeeathe?"

"I suppose we can make a day of it…" Against his better judgment, Grapple found himself agreeing, though he suspected he would live to regret it. Doing _anything_ with the twins often proved to be trying; they just couldn't control themselves. But Hoist loved them and he knew it would make the medic happy to receive a gift from them. "But you two have to promise you'll be on your best behavior."

"We do!" They chorused, matched grins lighting their faces. That, of course, lead to a fist bump and a few moments of horsing around, the two of them tussling playfully while Grapple folded his arms and frowned.

"Are you already trying to convince me this is a bad idea?" Threatening to end an activity before it began was usually a good way to get the two of them to fall in line. "Because I _do_ have other things I could be doing, like constructing more barriers and tweaking the-"

"We'll be mo' than good!" Skids interrupted him, quickly trying to reassure the architect that all would be well, "We won't get in no fights or break nothin' or any a that slag that usually gets us in trouble with the boss. And we'll find the best present ever fo' Hoist, somethin' so cool everythin' else'll look like crap. And-"

Grapple resisted the urge to sigh, holding up a hand to stop him before his speech continued instead. "Just get your coat."

-

The mall, Grapple decided, was the most miserable place he'd ever been to. Worse than battlefields and officers' meetings, it was crowded and noisy and dirty and full of loud, whiny, greedy humans. The small humans were crying and leaking and demanding and the big humans were fast losing patience with them.

Of course, the twins had no idea what they wanted to give Hoist. This meant they had to go in every store, starting at one end and working their way to the other. It meant a stop mid-mall for the terrible greasy mess that somehow passed for food. It meant arguments over possible gift ideas, stops for pretzels, ice cream and raspberry lemonades (Grapple realized that he really needed to discuss the twins' allowance with Hoist; it seemed they had an awful lot of unnecessary cash) followed by subsequent trips to the less-than-sanitary restroom.

Grapple was at his wit's end by the time they dragged him into the "sexy underwear store," in which they started giggling immaturely and placing those mysterious undergarments known as brassieres atop one another's heads. A perky saleswoman wandered over just as one of the aforementioned items landed on Grapple's head; she looked as if she were trying to be serious and not laugh.

"Can I help you?" She chirped, a smile that was a bit too wide crossing her face as she glanced between the three of them, finally turning to address the flustered architect, "Are you looking for something for your wife or girlfriend?"

The twins immediately stuffed the items in their hands back where they belonged, shuffling a little and looking uncertainly at Grapple, who sighed and slowly removed the bra from his head and handed it to her. "No; I apologize…They don't mean to touch things."

"Yeah we do!" Mudflap interjected, grinning brightly.

"An' you should git somethin' fo' _Mom_ here!" Skids chimed in, snickering and holding up another lacy undergarment, this one a festive green and trimmed with feathers. "This one is perfect, yo!"

"That's enough!" The glare that Grapple leveled on them could have sheered through solid steel. Both of them jumped a little at his tone and the sales lady wisely took a step back, snatching the item from Skids' hand in the process. "Both of you…Out! Now!"

They scurried out of the store without looking back; they both knew that Grapple's patience with them didn't extend as far as Hoist's did. He didn't even bother to apologize to the puzzled looking sales lady, just marched right out of the store after them, a scowl firmly in place on his face.

"We're leaving."

"Noo!" They both whined, identical stricken looks passing across their funny little faces.

"We didn't get no present yet!"

"We can't go!"

"What about Hoist?!"

They were playing dirty and Grapple knew it, but…There was nothing he wouldn't do for Hoist. And the twins were right; it _would_ make the medic incredible happy to receive a gift from the two of them. Besides, they looked so upset and pathetic that he felt a little bad telling them the trip was over, even though it was _their_ fault he was so agitated to begin with.

"We sorry, man!" Skids apologized for the both of them, as Mudflap stood beside him, nodding eagerly. They really, REALLY wanted to do this; Hoist deserved it. But they had such a problem with keeping themselves under control…It was hard to remember that they had to think about things before they did them; they were just so used to doing whatever in the spur of the moment.

Grapple sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He could feel the beginnings of a headache, a feeling that he knew all too well. "Fine. You have precisely half an hour to find a suitable gift before I drag both of you out of here and you get to explain to Hoist why you failed to purchase a gift for him." This was it; their last chance.

They scurried off, half in a panic and half over-excited. Grapple trailed behind them at a more sedate pace, shaking his head a little. The things he did out of love…

**Joy**

The day wasn't even half over and the twins had already disappeared to try out their favorite of their new 'toys' - a prototype game system that was being developed and still in it's early testing stages that Wheeljack had gotten his hands on Primus-only-knows-how - leaving a pile of crumpled wrapping paper and bows scattered around the room. It had been over in a matter of minutes; a whirlwind of paper and presents and delighted shrieking. The twins were video game and movie junkies; even as robots, they'd been interested in Earth electronics. Their small statures made it easy for them to partake in human video games, and the violence and destruction delighted them.

They had been thrilled with the gift, leaping at Hoist in a flurry of hugs and shoulder punches and excited chatter. They rarely did a thing without enthusiasm and their thanks were rather exuberant.

Then the two of them had raced off, Skids lugging the box along, to set up the gaming system in the common area and brag about it to the other young 'bots, leaving Hoist and Grapple ankle-deep in wrapping paper.

"Well…" Hoist looked a little dazed, blinking blue eyes and glancing around him at the wreckage and refuse, "That was quick. I suspect we would have missed it, had we blinked."

"Are you surprised?" Grapple couldn't help smiling a little, amused. The twins were hardly patient or contained and Hoist knew that better than any one. But he always seemed to forget their imperfections, no matter how obnoxious they were.

"Hardly." The medic smiled in response, stooping to gather the crumpled paper and fold it neatly for the recycling bin. He was a little bit of a neat freak; always tidying up when the twins or his absent-minded partner mussed something. The mess on the floor would bother him if it remained, and it had already been there long enough.

Grapple watched him for a moment, fond. Hoist was predictable and with his predictability came familiarity and comfort. Grapple liked things to be somewhat monotonous; without any sort of major surprises in his life, he was able to spend his days happily designing and building. It was selfish of him and he knew it, but…It was for the good of the Autobot cause that he created his masterpieces.

"It's a shame that it was over so fast…" Hoist was saying as he piled the discarded wrappings in a box, "It was enjoyable." Seeing the twins happy pleased him immensely; their contentment meant he was doing his job.

"It's not over." His partner took a step forward, resting a hand on Hoist's arm to gain his full attention. The medic looked at him in surprise as Grapple removed a stack of wrinkled paper from his hands and replaced it with a tiny, neatly wrapped gift, anticipation lighting his eyes.

Hoist turned the box over in his hands, examining it before gently tugging at the ribbon. Grapple looked awfully pleased with himself; whatever this unexpected gift was, it must have been something good, but for the life of him, Hoist had no idea what it could be. He stuffed the ribbon in his pocket and, suddenly curious to see what was inside the package, tore off the paper.

Nestled in a tissue paper bed within the box was a finely crafted silver ring. It was a curious gift; too big to fit around a finger, too small to slip over a wrist. The metal had been smoothed and polished, the workmanship exquisite -- There was no sign of a seam in the metal, though it undoubtedly had one.

Hoist glanced up at Grapple, an inquisitive look crossing his face.

"I got the idea while the twins were arguing over what they wanted your mug to say." Grapple shrugged a little, "The kiosk was next to a jeweler's and I happened to wander in…" Most of the jewelry had been flashy and garish and totally unappealing and the architect only gave it a cursory glance. But a young couple at the counter, discussing wedding bands, had caught his attention, and their discussion with the jeweler had prompted him to do some research on his own upon returning to the base.

"Humans have a custom of giving their partners rings to symbolize a bond." He went on to explain, "The continuous circle is meant to represent the never ending nature of the relationship, though I think humans are a bit uncertain about what 'never ending' means, given the way their relationships end rather quickly. They are a young race and don't understand the word 'forever'. But you and I…" Here he paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

There were a lot of things they didn't say to one another, mostly because -in their former bodies- they didn't _need_ to say them. They were capable of understanding on a different level; they had mingled their sparks enough that it was sometimes difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. The word "love" was not one they said often; far too much, it was over-said and rendered meaningless.

The medic waited, curious to see what his partner would say next.

Grapple moved to take his hand, clasping it in his own and tugging Hoist closer. "What I've built with you, Hoist…_We_ are my greatest masterpiece and I never want you to think otherwise. I know I get caught up in my work and don't always know what to do with the twins, but…I'd be lost without you. I want you to know that." He smiled faintly, admiring his own handiwork, "So I made this for you. I wanted it big enough to not get lost or broken, should we return to our original forms, and strong enough to endure anything, like us."

"Thank you." Hoist set the box aside, freeing his hands, and curled closer, a content smile blossoming across his face, "It's magnificent, like everything you make. And I hardly need anything to remind me I have you, but I'm glad for it nonetheless. Perhaps I don't say it often enough, but…" There was something about the way his face lit up, eyes sparkling, that left no doubt in Grapple's mind as to what he would say next, "I do love you."

And with that, he suddenly found himself swept up into Grapple's arms, and being kissed, a completely unexpected -but again- welcome turn of events. "I know…" The architect murmured as Hoist wrapped his arms around his neck, grinning, "I love you too." And he kissed him again, this time softer and slower and full of promise.

"Woo hoo…Wouldja lookit that?"

"And there ain't even no mistletoe in here!"

"Mebbe he did get one thothe frilly thingth fo' Hoitht aftah all."

"Go Grapple!"

…So of course the moment was utterly and completely ruined.

The twins had materialized in the doorway, interrupting the kiss with their catcalls and hooting; it never ceased to amuse them when their caregivers acted like that. It was an uncommon sight and, for whatever reason, they found it hilarious. It always lead to much good-natured teasing and Grapple sometimes found himself wondering if perhaps this was _why_ they didn't often display affection for one another openly.

He blushed, always awkward when they were caught in an intimate moment, but Hoist simply laughed, the sound cheery and joyful, and hugged him again. Mudflap shot a thumbs up in their direction, happy that Hoist was happy, and high-fived his twin, and then they were gone once more, having completely forgotten why they returned in the first place.

Grapple gently placed his partner back on his feet, a little flustered by the entire situation. Hoist gave his arm an affectionate pat, completely understanding of the architect's discomfort with the situation, and nestled into his side, making a soothing sound. "…Grapple?"

"Yes, Hoist?"

"I don't have anything particularly special to give you. I'm sorry…"

"I don't need anything besides you." Their eyes met, and for a moment, Grapple didn't care if they ever reverted to their original forms, because he loved being able to see Hoist smile whenever the mood struck him; there was nothing to obscure the view of his mouth like this.

And there was that smile, content and bright and one of the most beautiful things Grapple had ever seen, and Hoist was hugging him again; it was as if they were millennia younger and still foolish and love struck.

"Happy Christmas, Grapple."

Grapple smiled in return. Happy Christmas indeed.


	4. Choices

**Notes: **Hi. Bet you guys thought I forgot about this piece of randomness. But here I am, with an update.

Jolt is…a hard character to write. He had almost no characterization in the movie, yet in other media, he's portrayed similar to the twins - brash, impulsive, kind of a jerk. I don't like that for him, so I tried to do an in between.

Again, the girls in the art class are both based on people I know.

* * *

**Choices**

"This week, we are going to begin working on family portraits. We've spent a lot of time going over techniques and methods for creating art, and now I'd like you to put them to use. You may use any technique and medium you'd like -and please, be creative!- so long as your picture contains all the members of your family."

It was a simple enough assignment and a simple enough statement.

No one ever knew it would cause so much trouble.

* * *

Mudflap had set to work right away, gathering a set of oil pastels -his preferred medium- to color with. He liked the soft crayons because they were easy to work with, as well as messy, and he liked anything that was messy.

His enthusiasm was easily noticeable; he was practically bouncing in his seat as he began working on the project. The pastels were rolling all over the surface of the table and Beverly had to keep pushing them back towards him, good naturedly grumbling about how he should keep his things to himself.

"Who are you drawing?" She asked absently at one point, busily working on somewhat sketchy, cartoony-looking versions of her own family. "You used to be a robot, right? Do robots have moms and dads and stuff?"

"We got creatorth." He explained, scrawling some color across the paper. He had decided he wanted to draw them all as both humans and Cybertronians, just because he could. "Mine offlined long time ago. But me an' my brutha, we got taked in by a medic, Hoitht. He kinda like a mom fer uth. Like, he feedth uth and taketh care a uth and thuff. And he got a partner, tho we kinda got a dad, too, 'thepth I don't think Grapple liketh uth motht a the time."

"You have a brother?" Beverly peeked at his paper, looking at the doodles he was working on. They were barely more than stick figures, but all seemed to have personality. The two smaller people had dark, stick upy hair and looked almost identical, save for their different color clothing. The biggest one was broad-shouldered, and holding what Beverly guessed was a ruler. The final person in the picture appeared to be the man who brought Mudflap to class most weeks; his likeness had a brilliant smile stretched across his face.

"Yeah." Mudflap nodded, scribbling some very yellow hair on the top of the broad-shouldered man's head, "I gotta twin." He paused, "…He'th a jerk. He'th mean ta me all th' time and he don't got time fo' me no more."

"Oh." Beverly glanced down at her own picture, quiet for a moment as she added some color to her pen-and-ink sketch. "My brother's not so bad. Mostly, he's annoying when he's in a bad mood, because he gets all grouchy. And…he's usually in a bad mood, because I usually try telling him what to do."

"Yeah, Thkidth ith kinda like that thometimeth too, 'thept he try tellin' _me_ what ta do motht a the time."

The two were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn't notice the Queen Bee's approach. Tristan had -for whatever reason- decided on the first day he attended class that it was her life's goal to make Mudflap miserable. She picked on him over anything - His speech, his untidy appearance, his poor reading skills, his hideous handwriting, his lack of drawing ability. Anything to make herself look witty and him look like a loser.

It didn't help that she was jealous of Beverly's talent and that Beverly and Mudflap hung around together.

"Which one's your mom?" Beverly was asking as Tristan approached the table. The older girl paused, taking time to survey the scene, then spared a glance at Mudflap's picture, just as he was pointing at the smiling man.

"Thith ith Hoitht. He'th-"

He didn't get any further.

"You have two dads." Tristan's voice -flat, with a hint of disgust- sounded from behind them.

Mudflap and Beverly both turned, leveling her with matching looks of distrust. She gazed coolly back at them, casually flicking her long, glossy hair over her shoulder.

"No…" Mudflap said slowly, deliberately, "I gotta dad and a mom." Well, that wasn't entirely true, but…He liked to pretend. Hoist and Grapple had been taking care of them so long, it _felt_ like they were his parents.

A nasty sneer crossed Tristan's face as she studied the picture. "Guys can't be moms, stupid."

"But…Mine ith." The robot-turned-human blinked blue eyes, glancing down at the picture again. Naturally, being himself, gender differences were completely lost on him and he didn't understand why she would say otherwise.

"No." Tristan shook her head impatiently, "You've got two dads."

"So what?" Beverly scowled at the other girl, clearly understanding exactly where this conversation was headed. Really, Tristan was more of a bitch than Beverly already believed, if she was going to pick on Mudflap for having two male parents. It's not like he had any say in it, and it didn't matter, anyway, as long as they loved their kids. Beverly's parents had raised her and Quinn to be open-minded and that, coupled with her natural sensibilities left her uncertain why people had problems with homosexuality.

"So it's _nasty_." Tristan crowed, turning back to her cluster of friends at another table, "Hey guys, the dork's got two dads! His parents are gay!"

Her friends started tittering right away as if she'd said something hilarious. Mudflap glanced between his picture, his friend -Beverly was positively _livid_- and Tristan, trying to make heads or tales of the conversation.

In the end, he just wound up staring at the older girl blankly.

* * *

_Gay._

Mudflap didn't really know that word.

He'd heard it before, sure. And he kind of knew what it meant; it had something to do with two male humans interfacing.

But what he didn't understand…Was why Tristan had made it sound like something _bad._

He knew, of course, that Hoist and Grapple were both male in their human bodies. They'd used male-gendered pronouns before as well, despite the fact that their species was not sexually dimorphic. Gender, to them, was more of a state of mind than a physical thing and both of them identified as male, as did the vast majority of the Cybertronian population. Given this, two male-pronouned individuals in a romantic relationship was a norm.

But Tristan had made it sound like something positively vile and Mudflap wasn't sure why and this bothered him…

Until Skids came along, chattering about a new X-Box game he and Leo had procured, all but dragging him off to the rec room to try it out. Then all thoughts about the complexities of human relations were the last thing on his mind.

* * *

Until the next week, when Tristan brought it up again, peering over his shoulder and making a snide comment about how his parents were fags.

That brought it all back to the front of his mind again and he swiveled in his chair, scowling up at her. "Whatta you got againtht my family? You don't even know 'em and you thayin' all thith thuff 'bout 'em!"

"I don't need to know them," Her phony-baloney smile stretched across her face, dark eyes dancing with wicked glee, "to know they're nasty. Don't you know people like that got problems? It's not normal. It's disgusting and they're going to Hell."

Mudflap got sent home early from class that night.

* * *

"Why did you push that girl?"

The only one available to pick him up that night had been -of all people- Jolt. He had appeared in the doorway not long after Andrew called the base, apologizing for Hoist and Grapple's absence. They had gone out for the evening after dropping Mudflap off and Leo and Skids had been recruited to fetch Mudflap after the class ended. However, they had left for the movies earlier in the evening and Jolt had therefore been the one to answer the phone when it rang.

Andrew had given the him a curious look when he appeared in the doorway. In all the time that Mudflap had been attending class, people had come and gone: Hoist, Grapple, Leo, Skids. But never this young man with an easy smile and electric blue hair. Jolt looked like the stereotypical punk, from his combat boots to his blue coif, and Andrew suspected he wouldn't have been any one's first choice to pick up the wayward youngster.

But Mudflap had snatched his coat and scurried right to his side, eager to leave since he'd been reprimanded and Tristan was still moaning and groaning all over a little shove that had done her absolutely no damage.

"Hoist'll call you about it tomorrow." Jolt had said pleasantly, giving Mudflap a little nudge towards the door.

And Andrew had had no choice but to watch them go.

"The wath thayin' thuff 'bout Grapple-n-Hoitht!" Mudflap explained, leaning his cheek against the cool glass of the city bus' window. "The detherved a lot worthe!" He was pissed; this much was obvious. The entire walk to the bus stop he'd been jittery and now he was having a hard time sitting still. His scrawny frame was fraught with tension and barely controlled anger.

"…What kind of stuff?" Jolt frowned a little, reaching up to pull the stop signal. He was a little surprised; if this girl was insulting the medic and his companion, of course Mudflap wouldn't let her get away with it. But for him to stop at just a push…That was impressive.

"The kinda thuff that don't thound too nice." For a moment, it appeared that Mudflap would elaborate, then seemed to realize the stop where they were departing was not theirs. "…Why we gettin' off here?"

"Just come on." This was probably going to turn in to a long conversation and Jolt didn't particularly want to have it at home. He could make guesses at what they were going to be discussing and knew he would likely need some good coffee before the evening was over, "I'll get you a soda or something."

"Mountain Dew?"

"Sure, whatever. Just c'mon."

* * *

One white chocolate mocha latte and a Mountain Dew later, the two were sitting on a bench in the little park that comprised the town square. Mudflap slurped at his drink happily, fishing ice cubes out of the cup to crunch on them.

Jolt waited, taking the brief moment of silence to enjoy his coffee.

"…What'th a fag?" Mudflap finally asked, gaze riveted on his cup as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. He was chewing on his straw and twisting it around his finger, one of those weird little things he did when he was uncomfortable.

The older Autobot was quiet for a moment longer, contemplating over how he would answer. He knew, of course; he was much more knowledgeable about such aspects of human life. But how to present the information? "Well…I guess some humans would say I am, because of Sideswipe."

"Cauthe you guyth innerfathe."

Jolt nodded.

"But…there'th nothin' wrong wit' dat." Mudflap looked confused, his bushy brows knit together, mouth drawn into a thin line. He didn't understand this; Iwhy had Tristan made it sound so _awful?_

"Well, yeah. You and me know that, but…Humans don't. Not all a them are like that, but some think it's bad for two males to be together that way." Jolt shrugged, sipping his mocha, "It's got a lot to do with how short-lived they are as a species and how human reproduction involves an exchange of genetic material between a male and a female. The goal of the human race is propagation of the species."

"…Huh?"

"It's all about making new humans, Mudflap. Two male humans can't create a small human. There has to be a male and a female. And if there are no new humans, the race'll die out, so they need to make new small humans. And most of them…just don't understand." Jolt set the paper cup down on the bench, gaze drifting upwards. Through the haze of the city pollution, he could see a few stars twinkling here or there. Somewhere out there was Cybertron, where things made sense. But they were here on Earth instead, where things got confusing sometimes. "Humans are a young, dumb race. They fear what they don't understand."

Mudflap was quiet for a moment, thinking about it. "But it ain't nobody'th buthineth what people do!" He finally huffed out, "It ain't like they doin' it out on the threet where any one can thee them innerfathing."

"Some people make it their business."

"That ain't fair!"

"Never said it was." Another shrug, "Look…If it doesn't bother you, what they're doing, you shouldn't care that other people are bothered by it. Grapple and Hoist have been together for centuries. I'm sure they don't get so worked up by stupid things humans have to say about their relationship." Jolt himself was impulsive and brash, but not so much so as the twins. His reckless side tended to show itself only in battle; the rest of the time he was fairly unassuming and thoughtful. "So next time that girl says something, just ignore her."

"But!" Mudflap sprang up from his seat, unmindful of his paper cup spilling to the ground, and started pacing in the grassy space in front of the bench, hands flailing a little. "It'th Grapple-n-Hoitht! No one thould thay mean thuff about them!" He paused, dragging a hand through his hair, "It ain't right!"

Jolt smiled a little; trying to smother a laugh. Mudflap's sense of logic was a little skewed at times; _of course _no one should make fun of his caregivers, just because they were themselves. That, naturally, was not the way the world worked, but to Mudflap…It was how the world _should_ work, because no one messed with Grapple and Hoist, even if they didn't know they were being messed with. And if Jolt laughed at that, well, he'd be the one getting shoved around.

"People make wrong choices all the time." Jolt deposited the coffee cup in a nearby trash can, then stooped to retrieve Mudflap's cup as well. "But you know? It's our duty to make sure we make the right choices. So if this girl is making a stupid choice because she's ignorant, don't stoop to her level. Don't call her names or beat her up. Those choices aren't right either." As the night progressed, it was growing steadily cooler. He pulled the zipper on his hoodie up the rest of the way and started walking back towards the bus stop.

Mudflap hurried along after him, cramming his hands in his pockets and kicking a rock. "What _ith_ th' right thing then, Jolt?" He muttered, wishing the older man would just shut up. Jolt was okay, but sometimes, he was more of a know-it-all than Skids.

"Educate her."

* * *

After their brief interlude in the park, the rest bus ride home was silent.

Well, not silent, exactly. The bus was full of city sounds, of course; the engine rumbling, college students chatting over inane things, a smelly derelict muttering to himself. It was more that the two of them didn't speak. Mudflap curled up in his seat, pulling out his DS and busying himself with a game, trying again to forget about the whole thing.

Jolt was glad for the silence; the evening's topic of discussion was an incredibly personal one.

He had learned, early on, words like "fag" and "homo." The Change had left their usual methods of intimacy impossible and he'd begun researching human interfacing. He had been at first horrified by the number of anti-gay sites he'd found on the internet, then saddened - who cared if people loved a little differently? All of the fear mongering and hate just made people more scared and fueled the ignorance.

It wasn't like Sideswipe would have done anything to outwardly suggest they were in a relationship. No, not at all. The other soldier wasn't partial to public displays of affection, like holding hands or kissing. Not that Jolt would have wanted those things anyway! They weren't really his style; he was too cool for mushy, sentimental displays.

No, it was more the fact that people often became violent over who others loved. Fighting didn't normally bother him, but he knew his limitations in this body and didn't particularly want to find himself in a situation where he could wind up damaged, simply because he was in an intimate relationship with another male being.

It was a lot to think about.

A lot he didn't have to think about, before.

Slag; he needed another coffee. Badly.

* * *

The following week, Mudflap marched purposefully into the art room, pulled out his half-finished project, collected the pastel set and sat down to work.

He hadn't apologized to Tristan. Not a real apology, anyway, just the one Andrew had asked him to give immediately after he'd pushed her the week before. And he hadn't meant that, it was just something he'd said.

He didn't think she deserved an apology.

Besides, ignoring her just pissed her off. She liked _every one_ to pay attention to her.

"How are your homo parents?" Of course, she had to make her way over to the table as soon as Andrew was distracted with another student, hissing the words directly into Mudflap's ear, "Are-"

"Thut up!" He stood up so fast his chair went clattering to the ground and slammed a hand against the table, commanding silence from the entire room. "I ain't gonna lithen to it no more! There'th nothin' wrong with either a them and I ain't gonna thit here while you thay there ith! I don't care what you think, 'cauthe I know that Hoitht-n-Grapple love me and mutht take better care a me than your parenth, 'cauthe they teach me to mind my own buthineth and be open minded. Tho thay whatevah you want, I know it ain't true and it ain't gonna make me feel bad. All it'th makin' me feel ith thorry fo' you 'cauthe you a mitherable perthon!"

Tristan just stood there, for once with nothing to say.

No one else spoke, either. They just stared as Mudflap calmly righted his chair, sat down and got back to work.

* * *

"Did that girl bother you again tonight?"

Mudflap glanced up from the comic book he was thumbing through, somewhat surprised to find Jolt standing over him. Over the past week, since that night in the little park, they hadn't spoken much, besides the usual hellos or whatnot. They weren't friends, not really. They never had been.

The conversation in the park had only seemed to make things more awkward.

"You mean Thupid Bitch?" Mudflap turned back to the comic, turning a page, "The tried."

"And what happened?" Jolt had learned, the following Monday, that maybe -just _maybe_- Mudflap wasn't as dumb and annoying as he usually seemed. The spastic little brat had almost always driven him crazy, whether they were robots or not. Usually, he was jabbering about things that had nothing to do with anything, or shooting foamy projectiles at people, or bouncing off the walls and creating messes. Most of the others had doubted he was capable of deep thought, but something about the way he'd assessed his world and every one in it…Perhaps there was more to Mudflap than every one gave him credit for.

Jolt felt the need to see this through.

Mudflap lowered the comic, silent for a long while. Then he looked up at the older boy, expression uncharacteristically solemn and serious. "I think…" His blue gaze never left the other's face, "I think I made the right choithe."


	5. Strays

**Notes: **Does any one still care about this? I know it's been a million years and a day since I updated it, and it's taken me MONTHS to write this part. But...Well, real life sometimes gets you sidetracked. Anyway...More story.

* * *

Going out with Jolt became a somewhat regular occurrence for Mudflap.

He wasn't sure why or how, but something had changed between the two of them since that day he hit that girl at art class and, suddenly, they were almost friends. Or something. It was one of those things Mudflap tried not to question - he didn't have many friends, after all. But he really couldn't help being curious about it nonetheless.

It had been strange, the first time Jolt appeared looking for him. He'd turned up in the doorway of the twins' room, an uncertain expression on his face. Skids hadn't even bothered to look up from the comic he was reading; he just mumbled a "whatevah it is, we didn't do it."

But Mudflap _had_ glanced up, curious, and met Jolt's electric blue gaze. It was odd for the older Autobot to seek either of them out and even more peculiar for him to show up at their door and Mudflap had no clue what he might want, given that neither of them had caused any significant mischief lately.

"Come downtown with me."

Whatever Mudflap had expected to hear, it wasn't that. He blinked in surprise, momentarily stunned into silence.

Then he slid off the bed, tossing aside his DS, which landed somewhere among the numerous pillows and blankets Hoist was constantly giving them. Silently, he padded across the room towards his teammate, looking up at him suspiciously. "Why ain't Thidethwipe goin' wit' you?" He'd asked, brows drawn together.

Jolt shrugged a little, "He's busy." And he shuffled awkwardly, something Mudflap had never seen him do before, "C'mon. I'll get you another Mountain Dew."

And still, Mudflap hesitated, uncertain. Since when had Jolt wanted to spend time with him? Something about this seemed weird. Very weird.

But free Mountain Dew _was_ free Mountain Dew…

"Okay." He finally agreed.

And that was the start.

Now, some months later, Mudflap was beginning to enjoy the excursions - and not just because of the free sodas the older boy provided. It was nice to have a friend who wasn't an adult -or Skids- and it was nice to have some one want to spend time with him, even if it was only once every few weeks or so.

And Jolt…was not quite as strange as Mudflap had thought. Sure, he _was_ interfacing with grouchy, angsty Sideswipe, but he was also easy-going and philosophical and somewhat quiet. Sure, he talked almost as much as Skids, but his tone was low and even and Mudflap was starting to understand why he and Sideswipe suited one another so well. The youngster was also learning just how lonely Jolt was; his personality didn't really mesh well with those of the soldiers.

He liked to talk about trees and water and a lot of things Mudflap didn't always understand - But it was okay, because Jolt was easy to listen to. He was confident and sure of his convictions, his voice a soothing familiarity when they were out in the unknown, and Mudflap liked that. He liked knowing some one else was in control, so he didn't have to worry.

And in return, he found himself opening up and sharing his numerous fears and worries. He talked about how hard he worked at everything because he was "too dumb" to slack off. About how scared he'd been when Devestator had sucked him up. How it felt to share everything about himself with some one else, yet struggle to still be seen as an individual. He'd never expected to talk about those things with any one, not even Hoist. But he found himself _wanting_ to tell Jolt, who just listened and nodded and didn't act like any of those things were unusual.

Hoist worried about it - Jolt had a bit of a reputation as a troublemaker himself, though he was more quiet and subtle about it - and the friendship caught him by surprise. Jolt had never seemed to like Mudflap before; in fact, it seemed like he couldn't stand him. And then all of a sudden, they were hanging out together. It seemed like a bad idea; what if they got each other in more trouble?

But they both seemed to be having fun, and Mudflap was happy, Grapple pointed out, and neither of them had gotten in trouble for some time. So until something actually happened to warrant worry, why bother worrying?

Hoist had to admit, it _was_ a good point.

And, of course, neither of them had any way of knowing just how much worry the unlikely pair of friends would cause.

* * *

"…An' no one really geth it…It ain't fair, ya know? All them tholdierth t'ink we juth one mech, but I ain't _that_ much like Thkidth…"

It was a Tuesday afternoon and the streets were fairly deserted, therefore making it the perfect time for wandering. Mudflap still had a difficult time staying still for any reason, so the duo usually wound up traipsing around town with their beverages, browsing through little shops, people watching and loitering around the park. Sometimes Mudflap got distracted playing with little kids in the park and sometimes Jolt got to lecturing people about littering and sometimes, they got strange looks for being themselves - there was a lot they still didn't understand about being human and sometimes this was very obvious.

Mudflap had already finished his drink -a disgustingly colored frozen blue beverage- and was trotting along, tossing and attempting to catch a quarter and complaining about how some random human was constantly mistaking him for his twin. Jolt was only half-listening -this complaint was nothing new- and savoring his vanilla bean espresso when a disgruntled yelp from the youngster startled him back to attention.

The quarter had apparently escaped Mudflap's clutches and rolled in to an alley, only to be retrieved by a small, scruffy-looking human who leapt out of nowhere, pouncing on the coin and snatching it up.

"That'th mine!" Mudflap screeched, scurrying after the smaller figure as it disappeared back in to the alley, "Give it back!" With that, he leapt at the other boy, making a grab for the coin, but the smaller, more nimble human dashed aside and clambered atop a closed dumpster, the quarter clutched tightly in his hand.

"Honestly, Mudflap." Jolt sighed in exasperation, following the two down the alley and trying to be heard over Mudflap's disgruntled shouting, "It's a freakin' quarter. I'll give you another."

"Ain't the point!" Mudflap huffed, making a jump and trying to reach the wiry human and his precious quarter, "That'th mine an' I want it back."

The strange person sitting on the dumpster, however, had frozen at the sound of Jolt's voice and was staring down at the two of them, a low growl issuing from somewhere deep in his chest. Jolt glanced up at the sound, cocking his head.

This human, watching them through narrowed red eyes, was no normal human.

Something about the way he was looking at them and the sound he was making caused the hair on the back of Jolt's neck rise. This wasn't right at all. Normal humans didn't have red eyes. They didn't have pale, silvery hair when they were this young. And they certainly didn't roam the streets without wearing any outer coverings.

Jolt took a step forward, placing himself between the dumpster and Mudflap, who had suddenly become very quiet, and Jolt couldn't help wondering if he'd come to the same conclusion.

At his advance, the odd little human tensed, the growl becoming a warning hiss.

"Jol'…" Mudflap began, but his voice faltered and he backed away a little. Then "Jolt," He tried again, "Let'th get the thlag outta here…"

"No, wait." Jolt didn't turn; didn't break gaze with those burning red eyes, for fear of being attacked if he moved. He wasn't quite sure what this creature was, but he had his suspicions. "You still have that candy bar in your pocket?"

"…Yeah."

"Give it to me."

For once, without a fuss, Mudflap obeyed, wordlessly rooting in his pocket for the slightly melted Snickers bar and handing it to his friend. Jolt tossed it with little ceremony up to the tense figure crouched on the dumpster, who immediately snatched it up. He tore through the wrapper with sharp teeth, sniffed at it, then crammed it in his mouth, practically swallowing without chewing.

Jolt waited.

When the candy bar was gone, Jolt reached behind him, "Give me your sweatshirt, too." He still didn't turn, just held out a hand, blindly groping behind him for the aforementioned article of clothing.

Mudflap almost -_almost-_ protested at that, then remembered the eerie red eyes fixed on them and unzipped the orange and grey striped hoodie he was wearing. Hesitating for a second -this was his _favorite_ hoodie- he glanced up at the strange organic on top of the trash receptacle.

From somewhere beneath a curtain of silver hair, wary red eyes were watching him, studying him to see what he would do next. The little body was still curled defensively, shoulders hunched, knees drawn up. But even though his frame was tense, Mudflap could see he was shivering too, and suddenly understood why Jolt had asked for the hoodie.

He slipped it off and passed it to Jolt.

"You look cold." Jolted commented mildly, "Internal temperature regulators are different for humans. Come down and you can wear this; you'll feel warmer. And, if you come back with us, we can keep you safe and warm and give you more fuel." He paused, "Better fuel."

There was a long, tense silence.

Still, the little creature didn't move, just watched them, gaze darting back and forth between the two Autobots. Mudflap fidgeted a little; this was turning out to be kind of boring. He'd expected more from a Decepticon, even if it _was_ a human one.

"How long have you been alone?"

Jolt's question both broke the silence and startled Mudflap, who jumped at the sound of his friend's voice. Jolt, however, just gazed seriously up at the silver-haired human, who's hands slowly rose, spreading wide in a gesture indicating a large amount of time. When he moved like that, it was easy to see just how frail and thin he was, and exactly how much he was shivering.

Jolt felt a pang of sadness at the sight; this Decepticon was clearly young. It looked as if no one was taking care of him -of course it crossed Jolt's mind that this might be some kind of trap- because he was dirty and scrawny and sorely in need of some clothing and the soldier seriously doubted they would so severely mistreat one of their young just to lure in a few Autobots.

"You don't have to be alone any more. But you do need to come down if you want to get warm and clean and have more fuel…" Jolt didn't wonder about it too much. Clearly, this Decepticon had been separated from his comrades when the Change occurred; clearly no one had found him yet. He must have done what he could to survive, which was why he had no clothes, no home, no food.

He was probably scared, though he probably would never admit it.

'_Are you crazy?' _Mudflap didn't need to ask it; the question was clearly written all over his face. He was itching to ask it anyway, but in a rare moment of rational thought, decided to keep that particular thought to himself. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest, glancing back up at the naked 'Con. "Are you comin' down or what? We ain't got all day."

Mudflap, in all honesty, was a bit scared himself - this _was_ a Decepticon Jolt was inviting home, after all - but it was second nature to put up a tough front in the face of fear.

Still, he skittered backwards when the wiry body leapt from the top of the dumpster, as the Decepticon landed neatly in a crouch before them. Then he rose, frame still tense and defensive, though the shivering and his short stature took something from his intimidation factor, now that he was on the same level as them.

The top of his head came to about Mudflap's nose -and Mudflap himself was fairly short, as human males went. The borrowed sweatshirt covered everything that needed to be covered; Mudflap liked his shirts baggy, and since the Decepticon was smaller, it hung on him. He pulled the hood up, his long tangle of hair spilling out from under it, effectively hiding his face from view. It was clear he had no pants on, but what were they supposed to do about that?

He looked better, but still strange.

* * *

_How the slag will we pull this off?_

Jolt was slumped in the last seat on the bus, effectively boxing the strange little Decepticon against the window in the seat next to him. Mudflap was twisted around backwards in the seat in front of them, bright gaze trained on their "captive." Of course, if he really wanted, the 'Con could have slithered away under the seat -he was small enough, after all- or busted out the window or just shoved one of them out of the way, but he seemed uninterested in that. He just curled small in the seat, arms around himself, face hidden behind the orange-and-grey striped hood, a small rumbling sound issuing from somewhere in his thin chest.

Other patrons on the bus were beginning to give them odd looks.

Jolt closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his head against the back wall of the bus.

This day had become _very_ strange.

He wasn't sure why it was so very important that he drag this Decepticon along with them. He had no idea what any of them would say when they arrived home with him, or what they would do to him, but he had to try anyway. He thought again on how young the little 'Con appeared to be; by human standards, he was a mere child. And no human child was meant to be left on their own on the streets.

It all boiled down to the fact that this smelly, filthy, uncivilized and naked little Decepticon deserved a better life, even if he _was_ their enemy.

Well, that was how Prime was likely to see it, anyway.

Jolt started, thoughts drifting back to the real world when something suddenly fell heavy against his shoulder.

He looked over to see the Decepticon slumped against him. It seemed as if he'd held out as long as he could, fighting exhaustion in order to remain alert and ready to defend himself if need be, running on pure adrenaline for Primus knows how many days. And now -perhaps lulled by the gentle rumble of the bus?- he had crashed, unable to resist sleep any longer.

How many days had it been since this small boy had properly recharged?

Why weren't his people looking for him?

"What're you gonna thay to every one when we get back?" Mudflap's gaze never left the shivering form of the Decepticon; even asleep he was still a threat, "It ain't like you jutht gonna march in there and thay 'Thurprithe! Look what I bringed home!'" He paused, sparing a second to glance at Jolt, "Are ya?"

Jolt was quiet for a moment, his own electric blue gaze sliding over to rest on the small body beside him. "We have to see Prime before any one else spots him. He'll know what to do." He frowned a little, considering what their teammates might think of this new development. He knew some of them would think he was incredibly stupid for not only engaging a 'Con unarmed, but bringing him home as well. He also suspected that a few of them would demand the 'Con be locked up simply because he was a 'Con.

And he knew -he _knew_- that Sideswipe would be positively murderous over this. His brooding partner held absolutely no emotion other than hatred in regard to Decepticons, for reasons even Jolt didn't understand. There was no compassion, no empathy, no nothing, save for absolute loathing, and that troubled the younger soldier. Sideswipe would be angry, and not just at the Decepticon.

He would be angry with Jolt, too.

But what could he do, other than explain himself? He still wasn't even sure why he had to bring this Decepticon back to base. Maybe it was due to their suddenly shortened lifespan. Maybe it was because he knew the race was dwindling and they all had to band together.

Really, it was probably something more along the lines of 'this Decepticon is small and helpless and alone.'

"Pwime awayth knowth what to do." Mudflap agreed, nodding. He really believed that; their leader was still his idol. "An' I bet Hoitht'd know what to do, too. He'th good at figurin' out tough thuff." The youngster's eyes were fixed on their unusual companion once more, his mouth drawn in a firm line, "An' if any one ax…I'm gonna tell 'em thith wath yo' idea."

"Whatever." Jolt reached over the sleeping Decepticon to pull the stop cord.

* * *

Mudflap could hardly believe the way the scrawny Decepticon stood before Optimus Prime, head tilted up, chin jutting, the very picture of defiance. He was still clad only in the striped sweatshirt, but he'd pulled the hood back, ready to confront the Prime face-to-face.

He couldn't believe it, because he never would have had the nerve to look at Prime that way and they were on the same side. How was this punkass Decepticon not terrified?

As Optimus –crouched down to be at eye level- questioned the 'Con, Mudflap watched, not really listening. The atmosphere in the room was charged and every one –their plan to sneak in undetected had failed, of course- seemed to be waiting waiting waiting for the Decepticon to simply spring forwards in an attack.

Apparently, they hadn't realized how exhausted he was.

Prime's questioning was met only with stony silence, though that hardly deterred him. He would ask a question and wait as the Decepticon just stared at him, then proceed with the next question as if he'd received an answer. What was his designation? Where were his people? How had he been separated from them? Would they come looking for him? If not, would he like to stay with them? The whole time, the Decepticon regarded the Prime coolly, head cocked, gaze fixed on his weary face. And when the questions stopped…

His hand flashed out, so quick no one could anticipate the movement.

There was a stunned silence, the sound of the slap resounding through the room –or was it just echoing in their heads? Even though he was a Decepticon, none of them could believe this little punk in this frail, breakable body, had the audacity to _strike_ the great Optimus Prime in front of his most trusted troops.

And Optimus –perhaps the only one _not_ surprised- sank back on his heels, just looking at the Decepticon.

The room exploded in a wild chatter, outraged voices rising and trying to be heard:

"Punkass Decepticon needs to be put in his place!"

"Lock him up!"

"Forget locking him up; I say we frag him up!"

And still, the Decepticon stood tall and unwavering amid a crowd of larger, stronger bodies, crimson gaze darting around the room, from face to angry face. He kept his back straight, shoulders squared, as if daring them to come at him.

As if proud of what he'd done.

Mudflap stood there woodenly, his mouth hanging open, all words gone. He couldn't believe it…No, wait, he _could._ This was a Decepticon, after all! But _still_! To smack Prime! This 'Con musta had some kinda death wish or something, even though they were trying to help him and make things better. Probably _because_ they were trying to help him.

"No one's locking him up!" Suddenly, Jolt was between the runty little Decepticon and the assembled Autobots, hands up as if that would keep them from rushing forward and simply pushing him aside to get at their foe. "He's a _Decepticon_ and he's exhausted. Any of you guys would have reacted just as badly to the other 'Cons offering you a chance to live by becoming evil or something. It's not his fault he was created in to the 'wrong' faction or that he's probably just doing something he's been taught, so back off a little, wouldja?"

And Mudflap had just froze, unable to help, while some wicked, angry voice in his head told him just how useless he was; how, like always, he had failed to do anything to protect any one, while Jolt instantly jumped in, always knowing just what to do and defending the scrawny Decepticon in a way only he could manage.

Prime's keen blue gaze was wandering from face to face, though it never strayed long from the strange little figure of the Decepticon, who's face had become a blank mask as he peered around Jolt at his enemies. There was no telling what he was thinking, nor what Optimus was thinking, though his expression was more lax and thoughtful.

The room had suddenly become too quiet.

"Jolt." Unexpectedly, the Prime rose, breaking the eerie spell that had fallen over the room. He looked at his soldier, still standing tall in front of some one who probably would have shot him in the back, were the circumstances different, expression relaxing into something that was almost –_almost_- a smile. "I believe you did a wise thing today and for that I commend you."

"Thank you, sir."

"And now…" This time, a smile did flicker across Optimus' face, just for a moment, then it was gone. "it is up to you to prove it was the _right_ thing."

It only took Jolt a moment to understand what that meant. It took Mudflap a bit longer, but as Jolt nodded solemnly, snatching the Decepticon by the hand and motioning for Mudflap himself to follow them out of the room, it dawned on him.

And all he could think was…'_What the slag we gonna do with this freakin' Deception?'_

[To be continued…Someday.]


End file.
